


Truth or Dare

by cedarbranch



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Tension, Sub Michael Shelley, Trans Gerard Keay, Truth or Dare, guided masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarbranch/pseuds/cedarbranch
Summary: Michael and Gerry play a game of truth or dare. Things escalate.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 30
Kudos: 242





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the gm server for giving me the motivation to actually write this <3 you are all enablers and i love it

Gerry’s room is one of Michael’s favorite places. It’s comfortable and quiet, stocked with snacks, and always just the right temperature at night. He spends most of his free time there. He can’t really say why it’s so soothing; it just is. 

It might have something to do with the fact that Gerry is also there, and Michael’s a little bit in love with him, but he chooses to ignore that. It’s a nice room, that’s all. Good ambiance for working on art projects. 

Gerry puts his book down and sits up on his bed, peeking down over the edge at Michael. “Are you sure you’re comfortable?” he asks. “There’s enough room for two up here, you know.”

“I know,” Michael says absentmindedly, dipping his paintbrush into the cup of water next to him. “I just don’t want to get paint on your sheets.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

“If you insist.” Gerry checks his phone. “It is getting kind of late, though.”

“Really?” Michael can never keep track of time when he’s painting. Sometimes, when he gets in the zone, reminders from Gerry are the only reason he remembers to eat. He wipes his paintbrush on a spare wad of paper towel, leaving behind streaks of pink. “What time is it?”

“Going on one.”

“Going on—what?” Michael whips around to look out the window. Sure enough, it’s pitch black outside, except for the faint glow of the streetlights and the pale flakes of snow they illuminate. He groans. “Walking home in that is going to be a nightmare.”

“No, it’s not,” Gerry says at once. 

“It’s one in the morning and it’s _snowing_ , Gerry, of course it—”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you walk home in that,” Gerry says firmly. “You can stay here.”

Michael’s tempted to argue, for politeness’ sake if nothing else, but he’s _really_ not keen on the idea of braving the cold all the way back to his dorm. “You’re sure?” he says tentatively. “What about your roommate?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? He’s out of town. Had to rush home for a funeral, I think, he won’t be back for a few days.” Gerry grabs a pillow and tosses it down to Michael. “You’re free to crash on the floor.” He pauses. “Or, y’know, I wouldn’t mind if you just—”

“I’m not tired yet,” Michael blurts out. 

If Gerry was about to suggest what Michael thinks he might have been, he can’t allow it. He can’t sleep in the _same bed_ as Gerry—maybe it’s paranoia, but he’s certain that if they were to be that close together, Gerry would somehow _know_ how he feels, and it would all turn into an awkward mess. Better to stay on the floor where it’s safe.

“Yeah, me neither,” Gerry says easily, setting his book aside. “You still painting, or do you want to do something?”

“What kind of something?” Michael asks, glancing out the window again. “If it involves going outside, it’s a no from me.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t subject you to that,” Gerry says, laughing. “But… maybe we could play a game or something? If we’re having a sleepover, we might as well do it right, don’t you think?”

Michael looks down at his painting. He could stop here, if he wanted—it’d be easy enough to pack up his brushes and let it dry, then pick it up again tomorrow. Besides, his back is starting to hurt from sitting hunched over it.

“Okay,” he decides. “Let me go clean these, then we can play.” 

He grabs his brushes, the water cup, and paper towel and leaves the room. Once everything is cleaned and the towel is disposed of, he goes back. When he opens the door, it’s dimmer inside; the overhead lights have been turned off, replaced with the dim glow of the fairy lights strung up by Gerry’s bed.

Gerry is sitting cross-legged on the carpet. He waves. “I put your painting on my desk to dry.”

“Thanks.” Michael sits down next to him. “So, what are we playing?”

Gerry shrugs. “The classic sleepover games? Truth or Dare, Never Have I Ever, Twenty Questions—”

“Not Never Have I Ever,” Michael interjects. “It’s no fun to play that with me, I haven’t done anything.”

Gerry raises an eyebrow. “Nothing, huh?”

Michael averts his eyes. Well. He’s done _some_ things. “Nothing—nothing too interesting, I mean,” he says.

Gerry nods. “Okay, not that one, then. We could do Truth or Dare?” Michael nods. “But I have some house rules for Truth or Dare, you should know.” The way he says it, just a little smug, immediately rings an alarm bell in Michael’s mind. He only sounds like that when he’s making trouble. 

“What kind of house rules?” Michael asks warily.

“For every dare you refuse, you have to take off one piece of clothing,” Gerry says, wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s like a combo with Strip Poker.”

Michael freezes. He can admit it: he is notoriously chicken when it comes to Truth or Dare. He’s awkward enough in his usual daily interactions, so most dares require far more bravery than he has. But he can’t take off his clothes in front of Gerry. That’s—well, that’s just too much. 

“It’s just to keep people from rejecting all the dares and making it boring,” says Gerry. “And it applies to me, too, so you don’t have to be, like, self-conscious.”

Honestly, Gerry taking his clothes off might be even worse than Michael doing it himself. This is definitely not going to end well for him. 

“Are you down?” Gerry asks, leaning back on his hands. “Or should we pick a different game?”

Michael takes a deep breath. He’s not going to be the spoilsport here. This is supposed to be a lighthearted game, a little fun between two friends. And friends don’t panic at the idea of being shirtless in front of each other.

“I’m down,” he says. 

“Perfect,” Gerry says, smiling. “You ask me first.”

“Okay, erm… truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Gerry says confidently. 

Michael is terrible at coming up with good dares. He casts his gaze around the room, searching for inspiration. He lands on Gerry’s mini-fridge, which he knows for a fact contains a snowball that Gerry has been saving in the freezer for days. Michael smiles. 

“Oh, I don’t like that look,” Gerry groans. “What is it?”

Michael inclines his head to the fridge. “Drop the snowball down your shirt,” he says.

Gerry half-winces and half-smiles. “You’re fucking evil,” he says, and goes over to the fridge, carefully opening up the top compartment to remove the little snowball. He looks at Michael and pulls out the collar of his shirt. “Fuck you,” he says, and drops the snowball down. He yelps and doubles over, swearing under his breath, but still laughing. Michael giggles. 

“You’re so evil!” Gerry cries. “And here I was thinking I’d go easy on you!” He makes his way back to the carpet and gingerly sits down. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Michael says. He doesn’t trust Gerry not to take revenge if he chooses dare.

“What’s something you’ve never told anyone?” Gerry asks.

Michael has to think for a minute. He’s pretty much an open book—it’s hard to come up with something he hasn’t told _anyone._ Most of his embarrassing memories are common knowledge to his family members or primary school friends. It’ll have to be something internal, something he’s never had reason to tell. 

His brain, of course, immediately takes that fact and runs off into _deeply_ personal territory, but he’d rather die than tell Gerry he’s into edging, so that’s a no. It’ll have to be something mundane.

“Well?” Gerry prompts.

“I’m thinking,” says Michael. “Er… okay, got one. You know when you blow out the candles on your birthday cake and make a wish? When I was a kid, I always used to wish that my wardrobe door would open up into another world, and I could have adventures like in the Narnia books.” He smiles sheepishly. “That’s kind of stupid, I know.”

“Aww,” says Gerry. “Not at all what I was expecting, but that’s actually adorable.”

“Shut up,” Michael mumbles.

“What do you wish for now?” 

“It’s not your turn,” Michael says delicately. Lately, most of his wishes have revolved around a certain goth with piercings and a shitty dye job, but some secrets must be kept. “Truth or dare?” he asks.

“Truth.”

“Hmm… what have you lied about most recently?” 

Gerry pauses. “Damn,” he says. “Guess I’m the first one to take the hit.” Michael’s about to ask what he means when he lifts his shirt up over his head and drops it to the ground. “You’ll just have to wonder,” he says. 

Michael’s a little too busy staring to wonder about much of anything. He has to tear his eyes away from the trail of dark hair that leads up from Gerry’s waistband. “M-my turn, then,” he says. “Dare.”

“Hmm.” Gerry draws his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them thoughtfully. “Give me a second, I want it to be something good.”

“Oh no,” Michael says, covering his face with his hands. “That’s how I know it’s going to be really embarrassing.”

Gerry laughs. “I’ll go easy on you. Here, what about this—you have to let me take a picture of you however I want.”

“However you want?” Michael asks suspiciously, peeking out from between his fingers. “What does that mean?”

Gerry wiggles his eyebrows. 

“ _Gerry._ ” 

Gerry giggles. “Yeah, yeah. C’mere, I want to put you in my hoodie.”

“Your—that’s it?” Michael asks. That’s not so bad at all. Gerry gets up and goes rummaging in his drawers. 

“I’m gonna make you put a t-shirt on over it,” he says cheerfully. “And tuck your pants over that.”

“What, no!” Michael protests. “I’m going to look so stupid!”

Gerry turns over his shoulder, grinning. “Are you refusing the dare? Because you know what that means.”

Michael flushes. “N-no. Fine, just—just don’t _show_ anyone.” 

“Of course, of course. You have a reputation to uphold, after all.” Gerry pulls his hoodie out of the drawers and throws it at Michael. It hits him in the face. He sighs and looks it over—it’s the faded black Motorhead hoodie Gerry wears all the time. Michael tugs it over his head and inhales as subtly as he can. It smells like Gerry.

Honestly, the dare could have been a lot worse. 

“Brilliant,” says Gerry. “Looks just right on you. Now take this.” He tosses a white t-shirt at Michael. Michael gives him a look. Gerry leans against the edge of his bed to watch. Michael rolls his eyes and tugs the shirt on over the hoodie. It’s too tight, and the long sleeves puff out. 

“Happy?” Michael asks. 

“There was one more ingredient,” says Gerry.

Michael stands up and shoves the bottom of the hoodie into his pants, glaring at Gerry the entire time. “Perfect!” Gerry says brightly. “Now for the picture.” He takes out his phone and trains the camera on Michael. “Strike a pose. Something sexy.”

“Gerry,” Michael whines.

“What? It’s not a bad look, honestly. You make it work,” Gerry says innocently. Michael crosses his arms over his chest and makes a face. Gerry clicks a photo, then another. 

“Hey, you said just one!” Michael objects. Gerry clicks the shutter again. Michael swipes at his phone, but Gerry knocks his hand away. Michael pauses, eyeing him suspiciously. Gerry doesn’t move.

He takes another photo.

“You’re the _worst_ ,” says Michael, and grabs for his phone again. This time, he manages to snatch it. Gerry lunges, but Michael holds it over his head. Being a whole head taller than Gerry does have its perks. Even when reaching up on his tip-toes, Gerry can’t reach his phone if Michael holds it up high. 

“Come on,” Gerry complains, grabbing Michael’s shoulder in a vain attempt to prop himself up higher. “That’s not fair, give it back.”

“Make me,” Michael says smugly.

Gerry rocks back down on his heels. “I bet I could,” he says. He still hasn’t let go of Michael’s shoulder. 

“How?” Michael asks.

Gerry shrugs. “I have my ways.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You really want to know, huh?” Gerry asks. He tilts his head slightly, and Michael is suddenly very conscious of the weight of his hand on his shoulder, and how close they’re still standing. He nods mutely. Gerry looks at him for a long moment.

Then he jabs Michael in the waist. Michael yelps and drops his phone. It clatters to the floor, and Gerry bends down to scoop it up, laughing. “Shit, it’s not broken, is it?” Michael asks anxiously. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Gerry sits back down on the floor and grins up at him. “My turn now. Give me a truth.”

Michael takes Gerry’s hoodie off—somewhat reluctantly—and they return to the game. They play a few more rounds, exchanging stupid questions and stupider dares. Gerry refuses once and has to take his socks off. “Why didn’t you take those off first?” Michael wonders out loud.

“Setting the mood,” is Gerry’s reply.

Once they’ve settled into the rhythm of the game, it gets easier, or at least, Michael is less self-conscious. They’re both embarrassing themselves quite a bit, so it balances out, he figures. And it’s fun seeing Gerry like this, so silly and unrestrained. Sitting there with him, he feels comfortable in a way he rarely does these days. 

Of course, he still has some limits.

“Who,” Gerry says dramatically, laying on his back and looking up at the ceiling, “do you like?”

Michael almost chokes. “Nobody,” he says. Gerry turns his head so he can roll his eyes at Michael.

“Please,” he drawls. “If you’re going to lie, at _least_ make it a good one.”

“I’m not lying,” Michael says weakly. Even to his own ears, it sounds like bullshit.

Gerry rolls over again, pointing at him. “You know the rules,” he says.

Michael peels his socks off and throws them at Gerry. “What if it _was_ nobody?” he says petulantly. 

Gerry ignores him. “Truth,” he says. “Hit me.”

“Who do _you_ like?”

Gerry huffs. “Now that’s just rude.” He pops open the button on his jeans and unzips them. For a moment, Michael’s brain goes completely blank.

“Wh-what’re you doing?” he asks.

“Well, I’m not just going to _tell_ you,” Gerry says, as if this should be obvious. “You keep secrets, then I do, too.” He tugs his jeans down and kicks them off. 

Michael’s mouth goes dry. This is fine, he tells himself, his heart thumping in his chest. They’re just two friends sitting in a dimly-lit room wearing varying degrees of clothing. That’s normal, right? Yes. Nothing to get worked up about.

Gerry’s briefs have little skulls printed on them. Michael tries not to look too closely. 

“Your turn,” Gerry says cheerfully, sitting up and crossing his legs. Michael doesn’t know how he does it. How can he just sit there, only one precious layer away from naked and completely unbothered by it? The soft curves of his thighs are completely exposed. Michael keeps falling into daydreams of touching them before he snaps back to attention. 

He wants to touch. Of course he does; he’s been pining after Gerry for over a year now, and fantasizing about him in every way you could think of. But they’re just friends, and that means touching isn’t an option. 

_It could be,_ whispers a little voice in the back of his mind. _If you dared him._

 _Not an option,_ he tells himself firmly. 

Most of their dares are just dumb little things. Gerry makes him lip sync to Britney Spears, Michael makes him lick the floor. Gerry makes him do the next round in an accent, Michael makes him go down the hall and knock on his RA’s door before running away. Thankfully, it’s late enough that everyone else seems to be asleep, so there’s no one to see him sprint down the hall in his underwear, and they both get a good laugh out of it. 

Michael manages to make it another few rounds before he gets stuck with another question he can’t answer.

“What was your last dream about?” Gerry prompts. 

Michael tries very hard to keep his expression steady. His last dream… even thinking back on it makes him blush. It was about Gerry, because of course it was. He can’t remember most of the details—he wishes he could—but he knows it involved handcuffs and a glittery strap-on, and there’s no _way_ he’s telling Gerry about it. Even if he omitted the details, he doesn’t think he could get the words out. 

So he quickly shrugs his t-shirt off and hugs his arms around his middle, averting his eyes. Gerry crows with delight. “What? That was a tame one, too! Oh, now I’m _really_ curious.”

“Well, you’re not getting anything, my shirt’s already off,” Michael says, flustered. 

“That’s okay, I’m enjoying the view,” says Gerry. “Give me a dare.”

Michael’s brain has to take a minute to process everything that was just said. “Um,” he says. “I, uh—I-I don’t know, I can’t come up with anything.”

“Oh, come on, you’ve got to have something,” says Gerry. “Any embarrassing things you’d want me to act out? Obscene phrases to yell out the window? Numbers to prank call?” He nudges Michael with his toe. “You could steal one of my dares from earlier, if you want. Something I made you do.”

“No, I’ve got nothing. You can just… I dunno, tell me a secret.”

Gerry scrunches up his nose. “That’s more of a truth than a dare.”

“I told you I didn’t have anything good,” Michael complains. 

“Fine.” Gerry leans forward and lowers his voice to whisper, “My hair isn’t naturally black.”

Michael sighs. “I literally watched you dye your roots last Saturday.”

“Oh?” Gerry asks, raising his eyebrows. “Should’ve come up with a better dare, then.”

“Let’s see you come up with something better,” Michael huffs. 

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Let me look through your phone.”

Oh, goddamn it. 

Michael quickly weighs his choices. He could take his trousers off—which would be both embarrassing and, unfortunately, kind of hot, or he could let Gerry into his phone. Which contains quite a lot of text messages to various friends about his massive crush on Gerry. As well as his browser history. And a couple of photos that he absolutely cannot let Gerry see. 

He unzips his jeans. “And after I went easy on you, too,” he mutters, trying to make light of the situation, but he can feel Gerry’s eyes on every centimeter of skin as he pulls his jeans off. 

“You’re the one who challenged me,” says Gerry. “You must have some pretty bad stuff on there, huh?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t just _tell_ you,” Michael points out. 

“Fine. Keep your secrets,” Gerry says airily. “And give me a truth. Something good. I won’t hold back, unlike some people I know.”

Well, when he puts it like that, it’s an open invitation. Michael mulls over his options. There are certain things he’s been steering away from, the taboo things— _the things that’d turn you on too much to hear spoken aloud,_ adds the little voice in the back of his head—but Gerry hasn’t been pulling any punches. 

Two can play at that game.

Michael can’t quite bring himself to ask something overtly sexual, but he can get close. He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Top three turn-offs,” he says. 

“Oh, now we’re getting somewhere,” says Gerry. “Let me think.” He tilts his head back, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “Hmm… probably when people rush into things. You have to build it up, y’know? And then… when people don’t ask before trying shit with you, and when people aren’t responsive at all. Like, if you’re just going to lie there, what’s the point? It’s better when you can get a reaction.”

Michael has made a grave miscalculation. 

He’d assumed that asking for turn-offs was a safe zone—pushing the boundary enough for Gerry to consider it a worthwhile question, but safe. He’d thought Gerry would just say something mild, with little room for interpretation.

But now all he can think about is Gerry trying to get a _reaction_ out of him.

“Your turn,” Gerry says, with a hint of a smirk.

Michael holds his breath. “Truth.”

“Top three turn-offs, go.”

Michael’s fingers tighten against his thighs. He’d hoped Gerry would say that, but having to actually _answer_ it makes his heart pound. It’s not entirely in a bad way, though. 

God, he _cannot_ be getting off on this, it’s too much. He’s going to fuck something up any moment now. He’s the one who started it, though; he can’t back out now.

He takes a shaky breath. “Kind of the same,” he says. “I-I don’t like when people don’t ask permission before doing things, and, um… bad kissing, I guess. And when people seem distracted, or just not into it.”

“That’s happened to you?” Gerry asks, surprised.

“Maybe,” Michael says, blushing.

“Huh. I don’t know how anyone could take their eyes off you long enough to get distracted. Give me a dare, by the way.” 

Michael’s face is on fire. “T-thanks,” he stammers. “I, uh—I don’t—let me look through your phone.”

Gerry clucks his tongue. “Stealing my ideas, are we?”

“You said I could!”

“Still. That’s a no from me.”

Michael pauses. Gerry doesn’t look away. He’s still only in his briefs; there are no more layers to take off. Michael swallows hard. 

“The rules?” he says.

Gerry just shakes his head. 

“Okay, um, then we’ll just—it’s my turn. Truth,” Michael says. 

“What’s something you don’t want me to know?” Gerry asks. 

Oh God, just one? What _doesn’t_ Michael want to keep from him? He shakes his head firmly. “No.”

Gerry raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly at Michael’s briefs. “No!” Michael hisses. “You just broke the rules, I can, too!”

“Playing hard to get, are we?” Gerry asks with a smirk. Michael opens his mouth, but there’s nothing to say. His face floods with heat. Christ, how is he supposed to respond to that? Gerry makes all this look so easy. He’s a natural, effortless flirt, and hot enough to get away with it—unlike Michael. 

Michael can always try, though. 

“Buy me dinner first,” he says. 

Gerry doesn’t miss a beat, but his grin grows a little wider. “Please,” he says, “I’ve already used, like, a million meal swipes getting you into the dining hall when you forget your card, that’s got to count for something. It’s my turn, though—truth.”

Michael blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

“Probably this,” says Gerry. 

Michael frowns. “It’s not _that_ bad,” he says. “I-I’m trying not to make it bad, sorry if I—”

“No, not like that,” Gerry laughs. “I’m just—nevermind, don’t worry about it. Your turn.”

“Truth.”

“Hmm.” Gerry smiles, his eyes gleaming. Michael’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t know what’s coming, but he gets the feeling he isn’t going to like it.

“We did turn-offs,” Gerry says mischievously. “Let’s hear your top three turn- _ons_.”

For a moment, Michael forgets how to breathe. No. He can’t tell Gerry that, not when he’s sitting here in his underwear with absolutely nothing to hide behind if he starts thinking about it a little _too_ much. He can’t tell Gerry the shit he fantasizes about when half the time it’s about him. It’d be—it’d be _so_ fucking hot, is what it’d be, but he can’t.

_Why not?_ asks a wicked little part of him, the same part that’s way too interested in the fact that they’re sitting together with minimal clothing. _He’s inviting you to. It’s fine._

“You refusing?” Gerry asks, arching an eyebrow. “Bold move.”

“No,” Michael says hastily. “N-no, I was just, I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Tell me about it.”

Michael takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Top three, right?” he asks. Gerry nods. 

God, how can he narrow it down? There are so many things. Some of them are way too obvious, though—piercings, guitar players, guys with tattoos—so he’ll have to be more vague. Still, the idea of saying all this out loud, confessing it right to Gerry’s face… Michael’s pretty sure he’s too nervous to pop a boner, but just in case, he folds his arms over his lap. “Top three,” he says to himself. “Um—finger sucking, being bossed around, a-and,” his voice drops out from under him. He clears his throat and tries again. “And dirty talk, I guess.”

“Interesting,” says Gerry. “Anything in particular?”

“Hey, it’s not your turn anymore, you don’t get any more questions,” Michael says weakly. But Gerry fixes him with this intent look that sends a shiver down his spine, and fuck, how can he resist that? “I like being praised,” he says. It comes out as a whisper.

Gerry rests his head on his chin, looking up at Michael with that same intensity. “Noted,” he says. “Truth.”

“What?”

“It’s my turn,” says Gerry. “Truth.”

“Oh, um…” Michael’s heart skips a beat. “What’re yours?” 

Gerry ticks off on his fingers: “Pretty boys who get embarrassed easily, telling people what to do, and physical restraints. Your turn.”

“Oh,” Michael breathes. “That’s… wow.” _That’s me,_ he wants to say. _That could be me. I can do all that._ Instead, he asks, “What kind of physical restraints?” 

He can’t believe he’s asking this. It feels like he might vibrate out of his skin. He braces himself for Gerry to give him a weird look and call the whole thing off, but Gerry doesn’t. He just smiles. “Anything works,” he says. “I like handcuffs. It’s all about making sure you can’t move if I don’t want you to.”

It’s a general ‘you,’ it doesn’t mean Michael, he doesn’t fucking mean _Michael_ —but God, if it doesn’t make Michael shiver anyway. He’s had the same fantasy a hundred times over, from the opposite end. What he wouldn’t give to have Gerry lay him out on a bed and tie his hands to the headboard, leaving him totally helpless as Gerry kisses his thighs and takes his cock into his mouth, looking up at Michael with half-lidded eyes, and—fuck.

Fuck. His anxiety is no longer keeping him out of boner territory. If anything, it might be making things worse; his heart is racing, and the way Gerry’s looking at him makes him the best kind of breathless. He should stop this right now.

“My turn,” he says. “Truth.”

Gerry goes quiet. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Michael once. There’s something different in his gaze now, something charged. 

The lighthearted air between them only takes a moment to evaporate. The silence stretches out, growing tenser with every second; it’s like a cord winding around and around, tighter and tighter. It hasn’t snapped yet, but the weight of anticipation is crushing.

Michael doesn’t know what this is, but he knows it’s not a game anymore. 

“What’s your biggest fantasy?” Gerry asks softly. “If you could have somebody do anything to you, what would you want?”

Michael’s hands curl into fists. His heart beats hard against his ribs. Here it is—the line. If he crosses it, there’s no turning back. 

It belatedly occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, that might’ve been Gerry’s plan all along. 

The thought sends a wave of heat all through his body. He can feel his dick starting to get hard against his thigh, the fabric of his underwear rubbing against it every time he shifts. He crosses his fingers that Gerry won’t notice. Or maybe that he will. 

“Th-there’s a lot of things,” he stutters. “I, um—I-I don’t know which to—”

“How do you picture it?” Gerry asks. “Start from the beginning.”

Michael steels himself, and takes the plunge. 

“It starts with kissing,” he says. “All over, o-on my neck, on my thighs, everywhere. And then maybe he teases me for a while, like, coming close to touching but not quite. And then if,” he stops. He can’t bring himself to look at Gerry. He takes a deep breath and goes on. “I-if I’m good, he fucks me. Really slow and, and deep, so I get impatient and he can make me beg, and then when I’m really desperate he just, just goes for it, hard and fast and pulling my hair, trying to make me scream, and he doesn’t even have to touch me to make me come.”

“Does it work?” Gerry whispers.

“What?” Michael asks.

“Does he make you scream?”

Michael flushes. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.” He’s fully hard now, but Gerry hasn’t broken eye contact this entire time; hopefully he hasn’t noticed. 

“You want to hear mine?” Gerry asks. 

“Pick truth first,” Michael breathes.

“Truth.”

“What’s your biggest fantasy?”

“It’s a long one. You sure you want to hear it?”

Michael nods.

“So, it starts out at this party,” Gerry begins. “And I see someone, and he sees me, and there’s that… that moment where you look at each other and look away and look back, and you just _know_ , right? That electric feeling.” He licks his lips. “And we just do that for a little while, just looking. After a while he comes over to me and we dance, and I get my hands on him, and he grinds on me, and just from the way he moves I know what he came for. He wants somebody to fuck him. He needs it.”

Michael can barely breathe. There’s no way this is actually happening. Gerry’s voice is low and intense, and he’s staring off into the distance like he’s picturing it all happening. He must be. Michael is.

“At some point he slips away, and I wait a little bit before I follow him to the bathroom. He’s just waiting there, and he looks up like he’s surprised to see me, but I know what he wants. So I go up to him all slow and put my hands on his hips and watch as he blushes, and I ask him what he’s doing in here all by himself, and he says nothing, and I say I think it’s a little more than nothing. And that’s when I push him up against the wall and kiss him, and I keep my arm pressed to his chest and push my thigh between his legs, and he’s hard, and I say yeah, that seems like more than nothing, you want to try again?”

Michael has to fight to keep still. He wants to move, to get some kind of friction, but more than anything, he wants Gerry to keep talking. He doesn’t dare to distract him. 

“And he says he’s been waiting for me, and I tell him he’s a good boy, and then I lock the door and get down on my knees and pin his hips to the wall,” Gerry continues. “And he’s not allowed to move while I suck him off, but he keeps moaning my name and we both know everybody’s going to hear him, and he’s totally getting off on it. So I make it really good for him until he begs, and then I pull off at the last second and jerk him off and he comes all over my fingers. And I make him lick them clean again.” 

Gerry pauses to take a breath.

“That’s the first part, obviously,” he says. “Then I take him home and fuck him properly.”

Michael might actually die. It takes everything he has to keep a straight face, though he’s sure he’s bright red. His dick is so hard he can barely stand it. “Your turn,” Gerry says. “Pick dare.”

“Dare,” Michael says.

Gerry’s eyes flick down. Michael can’t cover himself in time. A hot flush of embarrassment sweeps over his face, but it’s thrilling in equal measure. 

“Touch yourself,” says Gerry. 

All the air is knocked out of Michael’s lungs at once. He freezes. He shouldn’t—he _can’t_. He’s stuck in place, helpless to move, even if he wanted to. And he wants to. He really, really does; he’s aching for it. 

But Gerry’s given him permission. Gerry’s _telling_ him to. 

Michael slowly slides his hand down his thigh, waiting every second for a reaction, breathless at his own daring. Gerry doesn’t stop him. Just this is enough to get him breathing hard. He can’t take his eyes off Gerry. He’s teetering on the edge, and he has to know what’s on the other side. He has to know what Gerry will do next. 

Michael lets his hand fall and rest over his cock, cupping himself through his underwear. The relief of finally being touched is so sweet, he has to bite his lip, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“Don’t,” Gerry whispers. “Look at me.”

Michael’s eyes snap back open. They lock onto Gerry’s as he starts to rub himself through the fabric.

“Not too fast,” says Gerry. “Not yet.”

Michael shivers. He slows down, stroking gently up his length. “That’s better,” Gerry whispers. “Just like that.”

Michael can barely stop himself from speeding up. His hips flex ever so slightly with each stroke, but he forces himself to keep a steady pace, not nearly as fast as he wants. He wants to yank his briefs down his thighs and jerk off, hard and desperate. He wouldn’t even care if Gerry watched him fall apart. That’d make it better. 

But Gerry hasn’t told him to yet. 

Just as the thought enters Michael’s mind, Gerry says, “Take them off.”

Michael exhales shakily. He keeps rubbing himself slowly. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his entire body. He slides his fingers up and hooks them into his waistband, then waits. Gerry’s eyes track the movement. All Michael has to do is pull them down, and he’ll be completely naked and touching himself for Gerry. The thought makes his skin buzz with pleasure. It feels filthy, almost—almost seductive, the kind of thing he’d never do without someone telling him to.

“I’m waiting,” Gerry says.

Michael slips his hand into his underwear and wraps it around his cock, working it up and down. He doesn’t look away from Gerry. He doesn’t take his underwear off. 

Gerry arches an eyebrow. “You’re not refusing the dare, are you?” 

“What’ll you do if I am?” Michael asks breathlessly. 

Gerry’s eyes glitter. “Well, I’d have to do something about it,” he says. “Might have to punish you.”

Michael’s breath catches. “Yeah?” he whispers. “What would you do to me?”

Gerry moves closer, onto his knees. “You wouldn’t like it,” he says. “I’d let you keep going, more and more,” he licks his lips and gets even closer, “until you were desperate for someone to fuck you.” The way he says it, all low and sensual, makes Michael’s cock twitch. A smirk flickers across Gerry’s face. “Yeah,” he says. “Just like that. I’d make you wait until you were right about to come, just starting to feel it…” He reaches out and trails his fingers up Michael’s inner thigh. Michael’s hips kick up. 

“And then I’d pin your hands back and make you wait for it,” Gerry says, letting his hand fall. “Just like you did to me. So why don’t you be a good boy and take them off, hm?”

A needy little sound escapes from Michael’s lips, and his face flares with heat. Gerry doesn’t know how much he _would_ like that—or, judging by the look on his face, maybe he does. Michael gives his cock a squeeze and pulls his underwear down, kicking them off to the side. His instinct is to cover himself with his hands, but he forces himself not to, instead keeping his thighs pressed together. “I-It’s your turn,” he says. 

Gerry’s looking directly at his dick. “Dare,” he says, and the way he says it sounds like a promise.

There are so many things Michael could do. He could make Gerry touch him, or suck him off, or if Gerry happens to have any toys… Whatever he says, Gerry will do, he’s sure of it. It’s an open invitation to make all his dirtiest fantasies come true.

But most of his dirtiest fantasies involve _Gerry_ making the choices. 

“You take yours off, too,” he says. 

Gerry laughs. “You don’t have to tell me to do that.” He pushes his briefs down over his hips and lets them fall, then shifts back into a sitting position in front of Michael, his knees spread. Now Michael’s the one staring. Gerry reaches between his legs and slides his fingers down. “What?” he asks, a little breathless himself. “Can’t have you getting ahead of me, can I?”

“Dare,” Michael says. He watches Gerry stroke himself, and can’t help but match his pace, working his hand on his cock. He parts his thighs to give Gerry a better view—it’s only fair. 

“Dare you to be louder,” Gerry says lowly. “I know you can.”

Michael tenses up. Gerry’s right. He can be louder—a hell of a lot louder—but when he does, he sounds… _filthy,_ his mind fills in. _Dirty, needy, debauched._ Which is all true, of course, but it’s one thing to get off on Gerry’s orders, and it’s another to do it _loudly_. It’s the kind of thing he’d normally touch himself thinking about, something to push him over the edge. If he acts on it now, he doesn’t know how long he’ll last, and fuck, does he want to make this last.

“You heard me,” says Gerry. “Unless you need a little encouragement?”

“Wh-what kind of encouragement?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You said you liked being teased, right?” Gerry rolls his hips into his hand. “What if I told you _I_ like thinking about tying your hands back and touching you all over, everywhere except where you want?” He lets his head fall back, brows drawn together and mouth hanging open as he kneads at his cock. “Fuck,” he pants. “Fuck, Michael.”

The way Gerry says his name shocks a breathy little sound out of Michael. Gerry locks eyes with him, all dark intensity. “Yeah?” he asks. “You like that, huh?”

“You think about me?” Michael breathes. He can barely wrap his head around that—Gerry, this Gerry, looking like porn come to life, thinks about _him?_

“Course I do—fuck, _look_ at you, Michael,” Gerry says, biting his lip. “Who’d you think that fantasy was about?”

Michael reels. “That was—that was about me?” 

“Who else?” Gerry asks shakily. He’s got two fingers buried deep inside himself now, sliding them in and out with a slick, wet sound. He swallows. It makes the column of his throat shift. Michael wants to kiss him there, to bite down and leave a mark. 

“I don’t know, I-I just thought—”

“It’s all about you,” Gerry interrupts. “How could it not be? You’re—I mean, shit, you’re everything I could want.”

Michael can barely process anything he says. He’s too busy replaying the fantasy, this time with himself in the picture. Gerry eyeing him from across the room. Locking the bathroom door, pressing him up against a wall, kneeling down. He can picture it with crystal clarity, how Gerry would look with his mouth on Michael’s cock, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes as he swirls his tongue around the head. How he’d suck so gently and moan just to let Michael feel it. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Gerry pants. “I never stop thinking about it, you’re so—fucking—” He bites his lip hard. Michael watches his hand, the way he curls his fingers faster, more insistently. They’re dripping wet. Michael wants to suck on them. Gerry could get up right now and make Michael lick them clean, force them into his mouth until he gags. 

The thought is a trembling rush of heat, making him thrust into his hand. His cock is leaking precome now, making the slide of his hand that much easier, so sweet it makes him dizzy. He lets out a breathy moan and spreads his legs wider. “Yeah?” Gerry asks at once. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” Michael whimpers. “Good,” Gerry murmurs. “Keep going, that’s it. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, just like that.”

Michael moans. “You want something?” Gerry asks. “Tell me.”

“Keep talking,” Michael manages. “Please, it’s—ah— _Gerry_ —”

“You wish it was me touching you?” Gerry asks. “You—oh, fuck.” He shudders and grinds into his hand. “You want me to fuck you, just like I said?”

“Fuck, yes, please—”

“I want to,” Gerry breathes. “Want to make you feel so good, Michael—”

“You _are._ ”

“I know.” Gerry watches hungrily as Michael thrusts into his hand. Michael arches his back into it, putting it all on display for Gerry. He can’t even be embarrassed anymore. The way Gerry looks at him makes his cock throb. He can’t stop touching, faster and faster, his breathing loud and heavy. “Don’t stop,” Gerry whispers. “You gonna be good and tell me what you want?”

“Put your fingers in my mouth,” Michael gasps out. 

Gerry huffs a laugh, somehow managing a grin even as he fucks himself on his hand. “You think I’m just going to give that to you?” he asks. “You have to ask nicely.”

“ _Please,_ ” Michael says desperately. “Please, Gerry, I— _nn_ —please?”

Gerry pauses to catch his breath and slides his fingers out, getting closer to Michael. “That’s a good boy,” he whispers. He gets a grip on Michael’s thigh. Michael opens his mouth. Gerry slowly, carefully slides his fingers in, smearing wet over Michael’s lips. He fits them in on either side of Michael’s tongue, then pushes in a little deeper, a gentle, rhythmic press, like he’s fucking his mouth. Michael licks between his fingers, savoring the sour-sweet taste and the way he’s forced to keep his lips open. He moans around Gerry’s fingers.

“Fuck, look at you,” Gerry murmurs. “Look how good you’re being.”

A heady wave of arousal surges through his body. Michael whines. “You can go faster now,” says Gerry. Michael quickens his pace, jerking himself off hard and fast. Gerry hums with approval, curling his fingers in Michael’s mouth, forcing it open wider. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Michael manages. He shudders. His muscles go tight, tense with the effort of keeping himself grounded for one more second. A steady euphoria floods through his senses. Pressure builds in the pit of his stomach, winding him up and up and up, the snap of his hips getting more erratic with each stroke. He gasps around Gerry’s fingers, every breath coming out half-moaned and steadily rising in pitch. 

“Say my name,” Gerry whispers. “I want to hear you.”

“Gerry,” Michael whines. “Gerry, please, please, I’m almost—” 

“You gonna come for me now, sweetheart?” Gerry croons. “Come on, I dare you.”

Michael locks eyes with Gerry, gasping for breath. He twists his wrist, and with a whimper, his thighs seize as he comes in a spurt of white across his stomach. 

Gerry takes his fingers from Michael’s mouth and kisses him hard. Michael’s head spins. He grabs Gerry’s wrist and kisses back. He’s trembling and unsteady, overloaded with pleasure. If he were standing, he thinks his legs might buckle beneath him. Gerry is an anchor, his kiss growing steadily softer, easing Michael back to himself. 

Once Michael can breathe again, Gerry pulls away, gives him one quick, gentle kiss, and presses his forehead to Michael’s. “Hey,” he says. 

Michael wants to keep kissing him.

But most importantly, he wants to make things even.

He takes Gerry’s hand from his face, and wordlessly pushes it back down between Gerry’s legs. Gerry’s breath catches. “You don’t mind?” he asks.

Michael blinks. “Why would I?”

“I don’t want to be rude, I know you just—”

“I want to watch,” Michael whispers. 

Gerry swallows. “Oh,” he says. “Well, in that case.”

Michael kisses him again, hard and insistent, the way he’s wanted to this entire time. Gerry inhales sharply, and Michael feels it when he starts to move again, his hips shifting as he presses closer to Michael. “Fuck,” he groans into Michael’s mouth. “That was so hot, Michael, you have no idea.” 

Michael really doesn’t. But he _does_ know that being this close to Gerry as he touches himself is making him hot all over—if he could get hard again this quickly, he would. “Gerry,” he says breathlessly. “Is it okay if I—can I—”

“Yeah, do it,” Gerry moans. He falls into Michael’s shoulder, leaning heavily against him. Michael reaches down, and Gerry grabs his hand, guiding it into place. Michael rubs his fingers against Gerry’s cock, and Gerry grinds down against them. He puts his hand over Michael’s and presses it harder against him. 

“I-is that good?” Michael squeaks. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s good,” Gerry says, his voice muffled against Michael’s shoulder. “So good, just let me— _mm,_ fuck—God, the way you sound, holy shit.” He keeps the pressure over Michael’s hand, so Michael can follow his pace, stroking him roughly. He’s so wet, it’s hard to get friction; Michael’s fingers slide over him easily. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Keep doing that for me, sweetheart, that’s perfect.”

Fuck, how is _he_ the one making Michael blush, even now? Michael tries his best to keep a steady pace. Gerry shudders and turns his head, then— _fuck_ —a sharp flare of pain as he bites down on the sensitive skin where Michael’s neck meets his shoulder. Michael gasps, his fingers tightening up reflexively, and Gerry’s hips kick hard. “Fuck,” he chokes out. “Michael—I’m gonna—”

He bites down on Michael’s neck again. Every muscle goes tense, and Michael can feel his body go tight before it jolts, and he comes with a muffled groan, shuddering against Michael. Michael keeps his fingers pressed to his cock, rubbing him as he breathes his way through it, only slowing down as he begins to relax. 

After a minute, Gerry heaves a sigh, and releases Michael’s hand. Michael takes that as a sign to pull away. 

“Was that okay?” he asks.

Gerry laughs and sits up, grinning at Michael with half-lidded eyes. “That,” he says, “was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever done.”

Michael beams. 

Gerry giggles and sits up, brushing his hair back. “I can’t believe _that’s_ what it took to get you to take a hint,” he says giddily. “I should’ve done that earlier, holy shit.”

“I—w-what do you mean, take a hint?” 

“I’ve been flirting with you for the _longest_ time, Michael,” Gerry says, rolling his eyes. “At first I just thought you weren’t into me, but then I realized you were just really, really oblivious. I really didn’t expect to do all this before I could even ask you out, but hey, whatever works, right?”

Michael smiles in spite of himself. Hearing Gerry say it out loud sends a thrill up his spine, which is silly considering what they’ve just done, but it still feels too good to be true that his feelings could be mutual. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s, um—I am kind of oblivious. A little bit.”

“But you’re also really hot,” says Gerry. “Have I said that yet?”

“A few times,” says Michael.

“Good. I’ll just keep saying it, then, because _I_ think—and this is just a personal opinion— _I_ think we should do that again.” 

“I’d like that,” Michael says shyly.

“Me too.” Gerry reaches out and smooths Michael’s hair back behind his ear. “Can I…” Michael nods. Gerry leans in and kisses him again, soft and slow. He moves forward so he can straddle Michael’s lap, and Michael wraps his arms around his waist. His bare skin is warm to the touch. He’s a comfortable weight over Michael’s hips, and as they kiss, Michael is finally able to sink into the afterglow, basking in the dreamy satisfaction that coats his mind. 

They stay that way for a while, just kissing and touching, neither wanting to pull away. In the end, it’s Gerry who speaks first. “What time is it?” he murmurs against Michael’s lips.

“I really don’t want to know,” Michael admits. “At least it’s a weekend.”

“You’ll stay the night, won’t you?” Michael nods. “Good.” Gerry laughs quietly. “We should go get cleaned up, we’re so gross. Also, my knees hurt.”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t—”

Gerry kisses him once more, just a quick, chaste press of his lips. “It’s not you, it’s fine. I’ve just been sitting on the floor for a while. Let’s do this on a bed next time, okay?”

 _Next time._ “Okay,” Michael says with a wide smile. Gerry sits back and reaches across the floor for his pants. 

“First, shower,” he says. “Then I’m going to pass out on you. Cool?”

“Cool.”

And that’s exactly what they do. Michael puts his clothes back on just long enough to get himself to the shower down the hall, and once he’s clean and dried off, he strips back down to his briefs, flops into Gerry’s bed, and waits. Gerry comes in a minute after clicks the lights off. He slips into the bed next to Michael, pulling the blankets over them both. He curls up next to Michael’s side and sighs contentedly. “Perfect,” he mumbles. “We’ll talk in the morning, ‘kay?”

Michael can only manage a nod. His eyelids are getting heavy, as the exhaustion of the night catches up with him. He wraps his arm around Gerry and closes his eyes. Gerry’s fingertips trace tiny patterns against his chest. 

Michael falls asleep knowing that when he wakes up, Gerry will still be there. Maybe he’ll even get a kiss good morning. 

They’ve got a lot to look forward to.


End file.
